


fives times john was cruel and the one time he wasn't

by santanico



Category: Almost Human
Genre: 5 Times, Gun Violence, Hospitals, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't always know how to say the right thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fives times john was cruel and the one time he wasn't

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Cinco vezes que John foi cruel e uma vez que não foi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4526715) by [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)



> Might as well not lie - this is mostly pre-slash and just dealing with John and Dorian's professional relationship and friendship, more so than romance, although it's more heavy towards the end. Who doesn't want a five times fic for this ship, anyway?

i. “The synthetics are giving me a hard time,” John growls, and at first he doesn’t notice Dorian glaring at him but when he does his back starts to itch. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Dorian says.

John rolls his eyes.

ii. Stahl and Paul are arguing.

“They’ve _always_ been the better team,” Valerie says, her voice heated although she’s grinning. Richard is shaking his head, unwrapping a candy bar.

“There’s no way. They were on a losing streak for months and now they’ve got a new player and just – bam? Suddenly, they’ve won three games. That’s bullshit.”

John notices Dorian watching the argument from his seat.

“Football,” Dorian says. “What a strangely violent sport.”

John snorts. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. It’s a tradition.”

Dorian looks at John for a long moment. John keeps his eyes on his computer. Valerie half-yells, “Kennex, what do you think? Giants or the Steelers?”

“You’re from Pittsburgh so of course you’d go for the Steelers,” John says with a snort. “I’m a native of New York, Stahl. Obviously it’s the Giants.”

“Ugh,” Valerie says, and looks at Dorian. “What do _you_ think, Dorian?” She’s smiling at him, leaning over the back of her chair. They should be doing paperwork, John thinks, trying to refocus.

He feels Dorian glance at him before answering. “I don’t think I’m qualified,” he says, “as I apparently don’t understand the tradition.”

John cringes.

iii. “Of course you wouldn’t understand.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s another tradition thing.”

“You mean, Thanksgiving? I see no use for it. It’s a celebration of genocide and white supremacy. Even the factual history has constantly been misconstrued when teaching children –”

“It’s a holiday!” John snaps, cutting him off. “What do you care, anyway? It’s a _human_ tradition.”

Dorian glares at him.

John shakes his head, speeding up to pass through an orange light. “You know, don’t worry about it. You won’t be celebrating, right? Christmas either, I’m sure. Though I’d love to hear you sing some fuckin’ carols.”

“By the tone of your voice, you wouldn’t love that at all.”

John slams his hand on the side of the wheel. “Shut up! Just shut. Up.”

Dorian gets very quiet.

iv. John hands Valerie her cup of coffee. “Three creamers? Really?”

She scowls at him. “Don’t judge, you drink your coffee cold. That’s weird.”

“Not cold. Perfect.” He’s smiling though, and they both sip at their cups contentedly at Stahl’s desk.

“Where’s Dorian?” she asks, peeking around behind her desk and then glancing around the main room.

John shrugs. “He said something about a check-up? He was sketchy about it. Probably some robot-y science-y gotta-check-on-his-cords thing. Like, make sure he’s up to date? Who knows.”

Valerie is staring at him. “What?”

“Just, you’d think – he’s your partner. You could at least be a little respectful.”

John blinks. “What? When am I not respectful.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head. “You’re more oblivious than my ex, John. You keep forgetting he has a soul, that he’s just as real as you and I are.”

John glares at her, and he can feel himself getting angry but can’t stop himself from saying, “He’s not my partner, Stahl, he’s a tool. He’s a tool for getting the job done and not much more.”

Stahl doesn’t say anything, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Dammit, why are you looking at me like that?” She raises her eyebrows and fixes her gaze over his shoulder. John turns and curses when he sees Rudy and Dorian standing together only a couple of yards away. Dorian’s expression is stone cold and Rudy is shaking his head.

Dorian doesn’t speak to him in complete sentences for a week.

v. Dorian’s got two bullets in his neck, three in his gut (or at least, where his gut would be), another two in his head, and a stab wound in his upper arm.

John is bleeding from a head wound, but it’s minor. He crouches in front of Dorian. “Hey, hey. Stay with me, okay?”

Dorian nods, and keeps nodding, and doesn’t stop nodding even as John continues talking. “You’re fine, you’re going to be fine. There’s nothing wrong, okay? Does it hurt?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. John.”

“Dorian, come on…” John tries to hoist Dorian onto his shoulder but _fuck_ \- he’s heavy. “We have to get out of here.” Panic is rising in John like a crashing wave, and though the situation is so much different – not a drug bust, just another robbery, but things have gone far too awry – the fear is still there, digging into John’s chest, making it hard to breathe. His eye is crusted shut with blood.

“Speak to me.”

“What? I’m trying to save our asses here, Dorian, you can’t go, okay? You have to make it.”

“John. John. John.”

“Don’t say my name like that, Jesus Christ, stay with me – stay with me. There’s ambulances, I can hear them, you’re going to be okay, you fucking idiot, you’re going to be okay.” John hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even known there was someone behind them. He had narrowly dodged the knife attack himself but Dorian hadn’t been fast enough, and the bullets were bad enough and he’s strong but he’s not that strong. Something’s malfunctioning because he keeps saying _I’m sorry_ now, a string of apologies, and then in different languages but John only recognizes Spanish, German, French, Japanese. It keeps going.

“You piece of metal shit,” John growls, and his leg is pulsing, phantom pain rushing through him at full force. “If you fucking die on me I swear I’ll make your name filth, I’ll make them hate you. Dorian – shit.” John collapses. They’re near a door but it’s still so far away. He realizes he’s been shot, but that was a while ago. Between his ribs. There’s blood on the ground, blood on his jeans and shoes.

“I’m sorry – ” he hears. 

vi. When he wakes up it’s in a white hospital room, furnished with off white doors and window panes. He turns his head and the pain is unbearable.

He fumbles, presses the button to call the nurse. A woman in white walks in and smiles.

“You’re awake.”

“Where’s Dorian?”

“Who, honey?” The nurse bustles around the room, checking his vitals.

“My partner,” John grits, and god, his head is fucking pounding. “My head hurts. My leg hurt. Fuck.”

The nurse twitches at his cursing. “If you mean the synthetic, the DRN, it’s being worked on. I’m sure if the damage can’t be fixed you’ll get a new one, right? All police are required to have one of those robots now, aren’t they?”

“He has a name.”

“Hm?”

“…Can you get me some meds? For the pain?”

The nurse smiles. “Sure thing.”

Valerie brings flowers when she visits, and she’s the first person to do so. “Hey, Stahl.”

She smiles. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“I was out for three days,” John says. He glares. “They won’t let me leave this stupid room. And no one will tell me if Dorian is okay.”

Her expression softens and she sets the vase down on the table next to him. “He had a lot of damage,” she admits. “Rudy’s having trouble…he can’t speak, you know?”

“Before I passed out, he was having problems…”

“Yeah, it’s worse than when – well, can’t be patched up with gum this time.” She pulls a chair up and sits down, folding her hands on her lap. “The captain’s made Dorian’s recovery top priority though. Rudy’s been working all day, every day to get him up and running. He can comprehend where he is, what happened to him, it’s just – his speaking mechanism. It’s not really replaceable, it’s sort of like brain damage in humans…one of the fall-backs of the DRN models, to say the least.” Valerie smiles, but it’s sad.

“I called him a piece of metal shit…” John groans and Valerie cringes. “They won’t even give me my synthetic leg. Can you believe this?”

Valerie touches his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, John? I’ll let you know as soon as Dorian’s better.”

John tries to ignore the false note he detects in her tone.

He waits.

Maldonado is the next visitor. She nods as she enters the room. By this point, the pain meds have made John’s head blurry. But at least his leg is numb, and his ribs only ache every once in a while.

“Where’s Dorian?”

“He’s getting better, John.”

John blinks, and has to think hard about every movement he makes. “What does that…mean?”

“It means he’s speaking in full sentences.”

John smiles. “When can I see him?”

Maldonado pauses, and then rests a hand on his shoulder. “Soon.”

He believes her.

John spends a week in the hospital. After the first few days he becomes intensely bored, although Detective Stahl does visit and bring books and music and movies. John can barely focus long enough to listen to an entire song. She updates him on Dorian’s status, but it stays the same for a stretch of days. He’s still having trouble speaking. Rudy can’t quite comprehend what’s wrong. With the old models…things are uncertain.

That’s how she puts it, anyway. Mostly, John tries not to listen.

He wants to go home. It’s been eight days and the nurse is tired of him complaining about the meal plan and the doctor keeps telling him to “get more sleep”, as if that’ll fix the hole in his back. It’s on the ninth day that the door opens and three people step inside.

“Dorian,” he says, the first thing he’s able to manage. Hovering next to him are Rudy and Valerie. Valerie smiles and Rudy looks nervous, his eyes darting between Dorian and John as they walk in step closer to the bed.

“Here, sit,” Stahl says, grabbing one of the chair for guests and pulling it over. She takes Dorian’s hand and guides him into the seat. John waits, noticing how slow Dorian’s movements are.

Then Dorian smiles, albeit a little crookedly, and croaks out, “How are you?”

John sits up. “I’m good. I’m good, I’m fine.”

Rudy is still frowning, standing behind Dorian, a hand on his shoulder.

“Would you…two…” Dorian’s voice is slow, but steady, “give…us…some peace?”

Stahl touches Rudy’s arm and they leave the room, Stahl sending John one more smile before they close the door.

The silence is deafening for a time.

Dorian takes a deep breath. “I’m glad. That you’re…alive.”

“Yeah, me too,” John manages. Dorian looks almost entirely the same, almost flaw-free. There are little marks in his head that looks almost like stitches, where the bullets had been. He wears jeans, a jacket, and boots. Nothing special. Besides the head wounds, he looks almost perfect. 

John’s eyes trail down – similar marks on Dorian’s neck. So much for perfect.

“Rudy says…that I’m getting…better. This…is frustrating.”

“Yeah, I’ve been in this bed for over a week. Trapped, too. It’s rough, man.”

Dorian gives a weak smile. “You will…recover.”

“You will, too.”

Dorian drops his gaze, hands fidgeting. It feels too normal.

“Perhaps,” is all he says.

It isn’t until almost three weeks later, John on the mend but at least living in his own apartment again and Dorian speaking with ease (although he still stutters, and mispronounces some words, or pauses to stare out a window in the middle of a sentence), that they really see each other again.

“Hey.” John frowns because Dorian is standing in his doorway like a regular person might, but they made no plans to meet.

“I don’t mean to barge in,” Dorian says, followed by a long pause. He glances in the door and John steps back, spreading an arm behind himself.

“Come in,” he says with a gesture, and Dorian steps into the apartment.

“Are we going to be going back to work soon?” Dorian asks as he steps into the kitchen.

“I hope so.”

Dorian turns around and smiles. “I feel tired. I don’t think it’s a good sign.”

John moves next to him by one of the counters, besides the refrigerator. “It’s gonna be fine,” he says, means it, “you’re gonna be fine.”

Dorian closes his eyes. “The way you say that, it’s familiar. But you’re panicking. Your heart rate is speeding up.”

John swallows. “Don’t read my vitals at a time like this,” he says, taking Dorian’s hand. “I mean it, Dorian. You made it this far. You’re going to be fine.”

“Rudy is a good caretaker.” Dorian hums and smiles. “He knows me very well.”

“As well as I do?”

“In some ways, yes. In others, no.”

John holds tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“About?”

“Piece of metal shit.”

Dorian laughs. “Oh yes, I do remember. Yes. Barely. You were quite angry at me. I’m very sorry that I couldn’t…hold on.”

“You did hold on. You’re alive.”

“Yes…” Dorian hesitates. He opens his eyes and looks at John. Beautiful skin. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful nose. John categorizes each part of Dorian and each moment as precious. “But I’m scarred, now.”

“You’re perfect.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

John steels himself. “I do.”

The silence that follows is comfortable. 

John keeps his hand in Dorian’s.


End file.
